Grateful
by fufulupin
Summary: Dawn thinks about things after her mother's death. Minor WT moments to sweeten the angst.


Disclaimer: Dude, do I _look _like Joss?

A/N: Just a little blurb from Dawn's point of view (I know—weird, huh?) taking place between The Body and Forever.

_Helpless. _It's such a little word, but it sums up so much of my life. So many hours have been spent with me being just that. Helpless.

It hasn't hit me this hard before. Ever since Buffy came to the school and told me about Mom, though, it's all I can think about.

Did all of that really only happen a couple of days ago? It seems like years since I last hugged Mom, since I last felt her arms around me and heard her familiar voice…

God, what did her voice sound like? I can't help panicking as I acknowledge the terror that's been trying to consume me since…oh, God, since…

I'm curled up on the floor of Willow's dorm room. I've been spending a lot of time here, with her and Tara. Something inside tells me that I should be going home soon, that I should be with Buffy, that we need each other. But that voice is overshadowed by the other thoughts that have been circling up there:  
_Buffy can handle it. She's the Slayer, for God's sake._

_Willow and Tara are safety. They are sanctuary. Stay with them._

_Home is where Mom will never be again. _

That last thought never seems to go away. The others come and go as they please, but that last one just sits there and lets everything else circle it. I want to cry every time it flashes, but I'm not sure I've got the tears left. It seems like all I've done for days is sob my fake little heart out. Well, that and snap at people. Most of them don't say anything, but I know they think I'm being an obnoxious little twerp about it all. Truth is, this is the only defense I've got. Buffy can go out and kick the ass of any monster she runs into. So can Spike. Willow and Tara have got each other for comfort, Giles and Anya have got the magic shop to keep them busy, Xander's got his job…what have I got? School. Great. It isn't like I've stepped foot in that place since Buffy came and told me…

And anyway, even if I could go back right now, who's to say I'd want to? It isn't like there's anything there for me. Besides, I'm not even real. Why would I even need to be there? What is there that I could learn about being the Key?

Nothing.

So here I lay. I haven't bothered to look at the clock in what feels like hours, but I can tell from the light that's long-since disappeared from the window that it has to be at least nine. Willow and Tara should be back soon, shouldn't they? I mean, they only said they'd be gone for a little while, to grab a late dinner and bring it back. They should be home any minute.

_What if they don't come back? _

The urge to cry strengthens; I close my eyes. Ever since this all started, I keep thinking: Who will be the next person to come take me out of class? When will Buffy have to come down to tell me that Willow's dead, or Tara, or Xander? Or—oh, God—when will one of _them _have to come and let me know that Buffy's time is up? What will I do then?

If I lose Buffy—or any of her friends, of my _family_—what will I do? Where will I go? Will they get other people to take me away? Will I get a whole new family? Will I go live with Dad?

The questions won't stop, no matter how hard I bite my lip, trying to harness the pain as I have in the past. Pain is usually so good a distraction. Not that I'm some freakazoid who hurts herself all the time, just to feel. Not even. But these days, pain's served as a good friend. I bite down hard on my lip or my hand and the thoughts retreat for a little while. Just long enough for me to get a hold on myself again.

Just long enough for me to stop bawling like a little baby.

They're getting tired of it. Or, if they haven't yet, they will. Anya's already trying to act like everything's normal. Xander's back to his jokes, although they're always so much more strained than usual. Giles is predictably British, always polite and gentle, as if Buffy or I will break at any moment.

I can't break. I can't give them the satisfaction of knowing I'm still just a kid. They all want so badly to have someone to protect, someone to take care of all the time, but I don't _need _that. I need to be one of them, not their little pet.

Besides, Buffy needs me to be strong. If I were to snap, she might too, and then what will happen? People will die, that's what. If Buffy loses track of what she's meant to do—this saving the world crap that keeps getting thrown at her—people will die. And I can't let myself be a catalyst for that.

The door clicks open and I can sense that Tara's trying to be as quiet as possible. Just in case I'm asleep, I guess. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing regular, although I'm not sure why.

Willow comes in behind the blonde witch and I hear her say, "Is Dawnie asleep?" Willow's one of the only people in the world who can get away with calling me Dawnie. Then again, Willow's one of the only people in the world who can get away with saying a lot of things.

"I don't know for sure." Ever since Mom…ever since this happened, something's changed with Tara. Her stammer has nearly disappeared and there's a sort of fierceness to her blue eyes, one that I'd never seen before. It's because she's been through this before, I think, and because she's determined not to lose me to the darkness that she says overwhelmed her when her own mother died.

Tara's one of the only people who's mothering instincts I don't mind. She's not pitying me, she's just…helping.

Willow sighs, setting a bag down on her desk. I open my eyes just enough to watch her as she runs both hands through her hair.

"Do you think Buffy minds?" she asks, frowning a little. Tara tilts her head to the side.

"About what?"

Instead of answering, Willow jerks her head at me. Tara frowns too.

"I don't…I don't think she's focused on that right now," she says finally. "I think she's keeping herself occupied with the arrangements. She's trying to pretend it hasn't shaken her so deeply, I think, and maybe that's easier with the knowledge that Dawn's safe with us."

I feel an unfamiliar burst of warmth at the words, despite what they mean. All that keeps bouncing around my head is that last part: _Dawn's safe with us._

If there's one thing I need right now, it's to be safe.

Willow looks tired, I notice. Exhausted, even. Her eyes have a strange heaviness to them and I wonder for the first time if I'm the one who put the weariness there. If watching out for me is too much, I'll sacrifice my own comfort and go back home. I don't want to hurt anyone.

Not that I'm sure I've got a choice. I mean, I'm not even sure why I exist. For all I know, I'm one big weapon of mass destruction.

Tara walks the few steps between Willow and herself and puts her hands on her girlfriend's shoulders. Looking deep into her eyes, she says softly, "Are you all right?"

Willow nods, but I can sense the pain behind the action. I curl more tightly into myself, feeling guilty for watching them like this.

"I'm just…I've done this so many times," she says after a moment. Tara looks confused, so she continues, "The death thing. I've lost so many classmates, friends…even teachers. But this is just so different, y'know? It's not the same as coming into class to find another empty desk. It's not even the same as it was with Ms. Calendar."

I remember that day. Buffy and Willow had gotten the news at our house and both of them had sort of snapped. Not as badly as Giles, though—he'd really lost it. Tried to kill Angel out of stupid rage. It was understandable to me, even though Buffy had been really pissed. After all, Giles loved Jenny Calendar. I'd never met the woman, but he'd…he'd loved her.

"It's someone who was almost a mother to me when my own didn't care too much," Willow is saying as Tara strokes her shoulders and hair. "Even worse, it's someone who didn't die of supernatural causes. Do you have any idea how rare that is in this town?"  
Tara smiles, but it isn't the warm, lopsided one I'm so used to. She, too, seems tired.

"I just…I never thought I'd miss anyone this much. It's bad, but…like, when Oz first left? I thought I was going to die." Willow sounds miserable and though I look closely, I see no sign of pain or jealousy on Tara's face at the mention of the werewolf. She knows that deeply, I realize, how Willow loves her and this leaves her with nothing but warm feelings for the one who came before her. I'm glad; I really liked Oz. He was funny and sweet and really good for Willow. I would hate to know that someone I love as much as Tara harbored bad feelings for someone I liked as much as Oz.

"But you didn't," Tara says, pushing Willow on when she doesn't say anything more.

"No, but I attribute that strongly to the meeting of you." Willow smiles, a broken little expression. "And when Riley left, I thought that was really bad too. Not nearly as bad as Oz, obviously; more like when Angel went away. Even like when Cordy left. I know I pretty much hated her for seventeen years, but you'd be surprised the things you miss when you lose them." She gives a wry little laugh.

I nod to myself. Angel wasn't around much, being all night-stalkery-guy, but the few times I'd met him, I hadn't minded him. I didn't care too much when he went away, although I remember the way it had hurt Buffy. That was probably the worst part of it.

Cordelia had been funny. I liked her, despite all the mean things she said. Sure, she was bitchy, but it was a good defense, a good cover for all the squishy parts of her personality. Sometimes, when she'd babysat me—and that hadn't been often—she'd say things that helped a lot later on down the road. Little tactless words that taught me a lot.

Besides, she was big on complimenting what she called my "shiny, shiny hair". She always seemed weirdly fond of my hair.

As for Riley…well, he'd been a bit of a lunkhead. Always calling me "kid" and "squirt" and ruffling the hair that Cordy had loved so much. But he was also like a big puppy dog, with wide grins and big eyes, and he was always in the mood for "sparring" when I was so green with jealousy over Buffy's superpowers that I could barely move without wanting to hit something.

"This, though," Willow says, eyes fixed somewhere around Tara's collarbone. "This is…"

"I know," Tara says, cupping Willow's face between her hands and running her thumbs against the other girl's cheeks. "I didn't know Joyce nearly as well as you all did, but I feel it too. And…I can't tell you how badly I wish we could do something about it all."

Willow nods, visibly leaning against Tara's hands. "Me too. But we kind of _are _doing something, aren't we? I mean, it isn't a huge something, but…Buffy needs it. And so does Dawnie. So we are being of some use. Not magickal use, true, but use all the same and that's what we need to—"

Tara laughs quietly, leaning forward to press her lips against Willow's, cutting off the beginnings of a babble. I can't help but smile as Willow's shoulders relax.

When she pulls away, Tara says, "Yes, we are doing something. And that something will have to involve waking Dawn up soon. She needs to eat something."

I close my eyes again, not wanting to be caught spying, but Willow says shyly, "Can it wait? I mean, she looks so peaceful and she hasn't been sleeping much anyway and…well, I was hoping we could just…sit."

"Sit?" Tara lifts her eyebrows.

"Yeah. We've been rushing around so much lately that…" Willow looks a little embarrassed, but she's smiling too. "We haven't had time to just be, y'know? Together. Us."

I can't make sense of the babbling, but Tara's smiling back. She leads Willow to the bed by her hand and they slip under the covers. For one mortifying second, I'm afraid they're going to start doing something Buffy wouldn't approve of me seeing. I prepare to sneakily turn away.

Then Tara slips an arm around Willow's waist and nuzzles her face against the redhead's shoulder and Willow's smiling and closing her eyes and the panic's gone for the moment. All of it just seems to melt away as I watch them, especially when Willow's hand slips off the bed and brushes against my hair, letting me into this rare moment of silence and comfort. I allow myself a sigh.

The pain isn't gone forever, I know. Mom's face still floats before my eyes and I'm still trying desperately to hang on as if to a dream. If I lose that face, if I forget those features I knew so well, I don't know what I'll do.

For now, though, I feel surprisingly okay. Content just to lie here, with Willow's hand against my hair, watching as Tara places light kisses on the redheads neck. I lock eyes with those blue ones and an apologetic smile slides over my lips. Tara winks back.

I close my eyes a final time, letting the absent strokes of Willow's hand lull me to sleep. My last thought is unhurried, unpanicked.

_I'm safe. _

It's a simple thought, perhaps even a corny one, but it sums everything up nicely. With these two—the lovers, the witches, the sisters, the aunts, the everything they've become—I am protected.

It feels like nothing can touch me now. And I am grateful.


End file.
